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“Took him longer than I expected,” Hudson mumbles, casting a wry look at me. That earns him a middle finger as I walk past him.
“Two things, McCoy,” Coach Torres announces when I step into his office.
I purse my lips. “Only two?”
He narrows his gaze, making it clear he’s not in the mood for joking around. “Take a seat,” he nods towards the very uncomfortable metal folding chair on the opposite side of his desk.
I oblige.
“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you what a pathetic performance you turned in today,” he says. Coach Torres never sugarcoats a message. One of the things I like about him. “You’ve had a hell of a season so far, so I’m going to assume it’s a one-off thing. But if I see any traces of the carelessness I saw on the ice today during this Friday’s game,” he holds up a finger and injects some hardness into his voice to make sure I know he’s not messing around, “the next conversation we have about it is going to be very different. Clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I nod.
He leans back in his chair. “Second thing. I heard from Martinello.”
My English professor. The course I’m taking this semester is especially writing intensive. The syllabus has us writing bi-weekly essays, composing eighty percent of our grade.
And I hate essays.
The funny thing is, I enjoy debating. I know how to make a point and defend my argument with my words. When I’m speaking them, at least. But when it comes to doing it on paper, I’m hopeless.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Sixty-two percent. That’s the grade of the first essay you submitted.”
My neck stiffens, and I hold back an f-bomb that wants to spew out of my mouth. I worked hard on that damn essay, and I actually thought I did a good job.
“Not a failing grade,” Coach says, “but way too close for comfort. We’re firing on all cylinders right now, and one thing that is not going to happen under my watch, is one of my top players getting tripped up by academic eligibility when we’re this close to the playoffs. We’re gonna nip this in the bud early. You’ve got a tutoring appointment scheduled on Monday.”
I cringe internally. I hate tutoring. It’s never done anything for me. But I’m not about to tell Coach that.
“Two-thirty in the afternoon, right after your last class. You know where the tutoring center is. Make sure you’re there.”
“Will do, Coach,” I force myself to say. Not like I have any other options.
As I walk out of Coach’s office, I force myself to look on the bright side. Maybe if my tutor is a girl, I’ll be able to turn on the patented Tuck McCoy charm and get her to write all my essays for me.
Ethical? Probably not. But just think of the satisfaction she’d get out of it. It would practically be an act of charity.
I poke my head back into the locker room, but all the guys are gone. “Thanks for waiting up,” I grumble to the empty room.
My phone vibrates. It’s a message from Lane. They’re all at Chiyoda Ramen, a Japanese restaurant in downtown Cedar Shade, for an after-practice lunch.
I find them sitting at our usual table, a big sectional booth near the front windows. I walk up to the proprietor, Kazu, and order myself a pork belly ramen. He doesn’t even nod, just slightly turns his head to shout the order to the cooks back in the kitchen, before continuing to look straight ahead.
Kazu’s a little … anti-social.
Lots of students who’ve come here to eat think he’s a jerk. But that’s not really true.
He’s just super introverted and doesn’t have any interest in basic pleasantries like saying hello to his customers. He and Hudson, two grumpy birds of a grumpy feather, actually get along pretty well.
I slide onto the end of the booth, joining my teammates. “Thanks for waiting up,” I repeat now that they’re present to hear the snark. My stomach rumbles as I look at them all digging into the food that they’ve already been served.
“Don’t mention it,” Rhys says, not even looking up from stuffing his face with his chicken tempura rice bowl.
My stomach only growls louder when I take a deep breath through my nose, and the smells from everyone’s dishes mingle. Kazu might not know how to exchange niceties, but he sure as hell knows how to cook. Everything this place serves is incredible.
I decide to distract myself by turning my attention to Sebastian, who wields his chopsticks deftly as he wraps his thick Udon noodles around them.
